Nightblindness
by roxy wilde
Summary: centered around the strange relationship between Curt Wild and Mandy Slade...caution: some bad language (nothing too bad, i hope)
1. chapter I

Title: Nightblindness  
  
Author: Callie Characters: Mandy Slade, Curt Wild, Arthur Stuart, + some cameos, etc Genre: Angst/Drama Rating: R for language  
  
Disclaimer: characters belong to Toddie Haynes and his cohorts, I just happen to adore them!  
  
Summary: Begins with the infamous studio scene, and progresses following the forgotten relationship between Curt Wild and Mandy Slade. Chronicles scenes from the film (like the Death of Glitter concert and all the way to 1984) as well as some original sequences written for clarification purposes.  
  
Feedback: please write me a review! Tell me how you liked it!!  
  
Notes: I wrote this because I don't think enough attention is given to the delicate relationship between Mandy and Curt. Their friendship seems to link to an awful lot! Also, the only times I ever see Curt/Mandy pairings, it's total smut and that upsets me! I included many scenes from the movie so people don't get /too/ lost, but a lot of it is my own, I promise! Just wanted to get that out =P  
  
  
  
Nightblindness By Callie  
  
chapter I  
  
Painted eyes stared intently at the scene before them. Some of the spectators chuckled, others looked away, as Curt Wild let his mad rage take a hold of him. The recording booth was a whirlwind of broken glass, and the dented music stand in the deranged singer's hands was ready in waiting to do even more damage. He screamed and screamed, but not a sound escaped the booth. The only noise to be heard was Jerry Divine scolding his young protégé for an experiment gone horribly wrong. "I think your time's worth a great deal more than this," he shot at Brian, flipping a switch on the soundboard so that Curt's cries rang throughout the room.  
  
Curt threw down the mauled music stand and searched for something else with which to cause damage, settling for a wooden chair. When all around him was dented and destroyed, he paced back and forth across the room, kicking anything in his path. Brian looked at the ground and breathed deeply. "Perhaps it's time for another little break. What do you say, fellas?" he choked out through a weak smile, straining to fight back his tears. "Give us a stretch?"  
  
One by one, his band mates and technicians filtered out of the room until only Brian and his wife Mandy were left behind. Mandy lingered for a moment, staring at Brian as she clutched her fur coat in her arms. She couldn't reach him now. How could he be so close, yet so far away? Slowly, she turned and left the room. Glancing quickly behind her, she noticed her husband pound his fists against the glass, no longer able to suppress the sadness and anger inside of him. Mandy knew that this was the beginning of the end.  
  
She rode home that night alone. The big white building seemed ghostly in the moonlight, and this wasn't the first time she felt as though she didn't belong. No, she'd felt like this ever since Brian and Curt had first met, like she was being pushed out of the picture. And what Brian did, everyone followed, and commenced to force her even farther out of the loop. She wandered down the hallway, possessed by a loneliness she'd felt for so long. She'd lost so much over the years: her innocence, her integrity, her- self. And it was all for Brian. But where was Brian now?  
  
Mandy sat at her vanity table, instinctively brushing the platinum feathers of her hair. She stared at her reflection, painfully realizing that she no longer recognized herself. As a single teardrop fell from her eye, she began to hear shouting from down the hall. Unable to stop herself, she rose from her table to investigate. The shouts grew louder as she neared Brian and Curt's room at the end of the hallway. She reached the room and pressed her ear against the door:  
  
"Jerry is right, Curt. I spend all of my time trying to help you, but if you keep wasting it all as you have been-"  
  
"Fucking hell, Brian, I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."  
  
"Don't you dare speak to me that way! I saved you, I helped you when you had no where else to go."  
  
"I never said I needed your help."  
  
"That's a lie, Curt. You needed everything"  
  
"And what the hell would you know about telling the truth? You're the fucking lie, Maxwell."  
  
There was a long pause, and Mandy heard the sound of something shattering against the wall. Inside the room, a pile of broken porcelain lay scattered at Curt's feet, and a streak of blood pierced his rough complexion. Fire in his eyes, Curt punched the wall and crossed the room to retrieve his coat. "Fuck you, Brian," he mumbled, "you're a fucking sellout." Stopping mere inches from Brian's face, Curt stared into his cold eyes. "You think you're a fucking God?"  
  
"No." Brian's voice was eerily steady. Curt shook his head and turned away, rushing out of the room. Mandy jumped back as he thrust the door open, and they stared at each other for a moment. In that instance, Mandy realized that Curt was not the one at fault. Silently, they apologized with glances and teardrops for years of misunderstanding, and Curt disappeared down the corridor.  
  
But something inside her told Mandy that she was about to make one of the biggest mistakes of her life by letting him get away. She raced down the hallway after him, running into Brian's army of groupies making love outside their rooms. "Curt!" she called as she reached the rear door and saw him struggling with the lock that always stuck. For the first time in half a decade, she had let her natural American accent seep into her speech.  
  
Curt walked slowly towards her and she dropped her head to the floor. He placed a strong hand on her neck and let it run down her shoulder and arm. "People are very fond of giving away what they need most themselves," he whispered, then pulled the door open and stalked into the cold English night.  
  
A window opened on the third floor as he marched around the corner. "Piss off then! Go on!" Brian screamed as he held the pane in place above his head. "Back to your wolves! Your junkie twerps! Your bloody shock treatment! And fuck you too!" But Curt had vanished. Mandy followed the shouts up to Brian's window, and stared dumbly as his drowning eyes stared off in the distance, still following his angst-filled lover. His chin quivered as he jerked his head quickly in the direction his wife down below, and his brow wrinkled in furious embarrassment as he slammed the window shut. It was at that moment that Mandy realized she had never seen him cry. 


	2. chapter II

Nightblindness By Callie  
  
chapter II  
  
The indigo glow of the compact television screen illuminated the room, twisting the colours on Mandy's face and exaggerating the tear that was making its way slowly down her cheek. Brian, her Brian, had been shot. So now she really was all alone in the world. She had no idea where Curt Wild had escaped to, and the groupies had long since deserted her. And now Brian was dead, all of his ridiculous paranoias proven horribly true. Part of her wanted to fly into a psychotic fury, breaking everything in sight as Curt had once done; part of her wanted to lay down and die, wasted away like her shrunken ego; part of her wanted Brian Slade to burst threw the door and hold her, easing her pain and telling her gently that none of it was true. All she could do was stare at that television, at the news anchor on the screen who had crushed her soul with a 30-second report.  
  
Lightning ran through her veins the next day, as she painstakingly lifted the newspaper that had been slipped under her door. Remnants of a sleepless, drunken night were scattered about her flat, evidence of last night's misery. But all of that went away as her sunken eyes fell on the headline, ripping through her like a sharpened blade.  
  
Slade shooting a hoax!  
  
She knew it was over-she just didn't know it was up to her to make it stop.  
  
*********  
  
Slowly, she worked her way down the dimly lit hallway. What was once so familiar to her had long since been pushed out of her mind after three years of vain attempts to rebuild her broken life. She'd returned to her hometown of Los Angeles, trying to reconcile with her family. Her father wouldn't speak to her, remembering that day nearly a decade ago now that she walked out on them all to throw her life away in London. Her mother was a ruin of cigarettes and alcohol, and refused to acknowledge her younger daughter's presence. Her sister was long gone, a victim of divorce and all that comes with it. But word was that Carla had found herself in London, a receptionist for some company or another. So, after traveling the world looking for anything to get her back on her feet, Mandy resorted to calling her sister, finally giving in and asking for help.  
  
Many nights were spent discussing the ten years they knew nothing about, a helpful release from the tension pressed into her through years of the so- called 'glamorous life.' It was Carla who convinced Mandy that it was time to let go, to come out on top and be the one to throw Brian away, not the other way around as history proved it should have been. But Carla couldn't come along as her sister trekked down to her husband's room.  
  
The open door revealed the still azure-headed Brian snorting cocaine off the bare posterior of the woman sleeping next to him in bed. Dazed, he looked up at her, and for a moment forgot exactly who she was. "Mandy," he gasped finally.  
  
"Hello, Brian." He offered her the straw, but barely able to maintain herself she refused. "These are the papers," she said, trying desperately to keep her composure. "I believe they're in order. All you have to do is sign." The divorce papers hung at the end of her outstretched arm for Brian to take, but he didn't move a muscle. Typical. She pulled the file back, turning her head from the shipwreck lying sprawled upon the sheets. Irritated, she walked to the coffee table in front of the bed and slid the folder into the pile of coke. "So you won't forget," she sneered.  
  
"I already have." The lack of emotion in his voice was aggravating.  
  
"Evidently." She turned, forcing herself to leave before she lost control of her emotions, but it was too late. "Fuck you, Brian," she shrieked, whirling around in a blind rage. "Did you ever, for one bloody second in your life, want anything more-" her voice became suddenly quiet, her screams became whimpers. "-than this?"  
  
"No." It was the same indifference that Curt had witnessed that night more than a year ago, only heightened after the lingering strain.  
  
"You're problem," Mandy began to quote, her American vernacular freely breaking back and forth in her constraint, "is: 'You get what you want and do what you will.'"  
  
"'Worlds,' Mandy," Brian retorted, "'are built out of suffering. There is suffering at the birth of a child as at the birth of a star.'"  
  
"'You live in terror of not being misunderstood.'"  
  
"'Women defend themselves by attacking, just as they attack with sudden and strange surrenders.'"  
  
Mandy's breath caught in her throat: the war of eloquence had been won, and she was not victorious as planned. How he always managed to seem better was beyond her comprehension. It was his nature-but, then again, this wasn't the Brian she once knew, but a shadow of a man hidden behind a glittery mask. "'I lost my girlhood, true,'" she said through pursed lips, more to herself than the monster before her. "'But it was for you.'"  
  
"What in God's name is going on in here?" Shannon burst into the room, professionally irate and leaving no traces of the shy girl who had timidly applied for a clerical position so many years ago. "How on earth did you get up here?! Brian, I'm really sorry-"  
  
"It's all right, Shannon," Brian cut in. "Mandy was just leaving."  
  
Shannon reached out and tugged on Mandy's arm. "Mandy, if you'll be so kind as to follow me-"  
  
"Let go of me!" Mandy snapped, jerking her arm from Shannon's grasp and heading for a set of doors to her left. "I am perfectly capable of making my own-" She pulled on the handle roughly and heard explosive laughter behind her as the locked knob repelled her force.  
  
"I really don't want to have to call someone," Shannon sighed disapprovingly, staring down at her feet to avoid snickering.  
  
"Call someone!" Mandy laughed sarcastically along, and then growled with anger and frustration. "I am his wife, for fuck's sake!" Enraged, she turned to the pile of cocaine and swept it into the air, a blizzard of narcotic madness softening the image of the jeering man before her. "Fuck the lot of you," she cried, fleeing quickly in a storm of embarrassed tears. She ran down the hall and banged on the elevator buttons, falling into the narrow shuttle and collapsing on the floor. The instant the doors opened again, she flew out and through the front doors, chasing wildly down the street to escape the ridicule she had left behind her. She never wanted to here the name Brian Slade again.  
  
But nothing could stop her from seeing his face. 


	3. chapter III

Nightblindness By Callie  
  
chapter III  
  
Three weeks had passed before Mandy could bring herself to leave her sister's apartment. Nothing would have pulled her out-except for Curt. The day before, he had called her to tell her he was in town playing at a tribute concert. "I just finished a record with Jack Fairy, can you believe it?"  
  
She hardly knew what to say. Thinking of Jack made her think of Brian, a subject she didn't want to touch. "I'm glad you're back, Curt," she said, nearly breaking down from hearing his voice.  
  
"Come to the show." And he hung up.  
  
She may have been out of the house, but she didn't feel like having any unnecessary human interaction. She felt as if everyone around her was laughing at her, pointing at 'the reject.' And at the center of her imagination's circus of mockery was the spiteful face of Brian Slade, leading the chorus of guffaws. She slid through the wings in the middle of Curt's passionate performance and watched with aching torment as he thrashed upon the stage, beating himself with adrenaline emotion. Mandy rolled her head back and turned to see a cloaked figure at the far end of the audience, outlined by streetlights in the doorway. Despite the high collar, wide brimmed hat, and concealing darkness, she could tell at once who it was. But did anyone else see him?  
  
After Curt's set, she waited in shadows for Curt to leave the stage, and snared him around the neck as he passed, pulling him into a long overdue embrace; they spoke in whispers. "That was really beautiful," she choked, letting salty tears flow from joy-filled eyes.  
  
"Yeah?" Curt played with her hair, holding his forehead lazily against hers.  
  
"Yeah." Mandy sighed and sucked back her tears. Gently she rubbed the back of Curt's sweat beaded neck with her fingernails.  
  
"Did you see, uh-"  
  
"No, I didn't see him." Mandy's smile faded and the tears came rushing back. Realizing how he'd hurt her with those words, Curt looked away. His eyes fell upon a strange boy leaning against a wall. His hair was spattered with blue in a vain attempt to resemble a certain fallen idol. But something about the lad was intriguing, and a plan began to form in Curt's head of how to debase this boy in order to save his own tattered heart.  
  
Mandy noticed the boy, too, and his sad effort to become Maxwell Demon was depressing; she turned quickly away. Curt finally pealed his eyes from the kid and rubbed his cheek against Mandy's affectionately. "I have to go, Curt," she said weakly. She carefully brushed a tear from her eye and searched through her handbag for a scrap of paper, which she retrieved and scribbled upon before placing it in Curt's hand and curling his fingers around it. "My sister's place. I don't want to lose you again." She kissed him tenderly and hurried past him out of the venue.  
  
There was something liberating about seeing Curt perform. Suddenly Mandy felt freer than she had in years, her mind's passions released with the energized exhibition. Any way around it, she couldn't sleep a wink that night and instead spent the long, early morning hours sifting through boxes of torn photographs and piecing them back together. As each image of her former husband came into view, her heart would skip a beat. Why was she salvaging remnants of that monster? Somewhere deep inside she knew the answer, thanks to Curt.  
  
*********  
  
The following afternoon was just like any other English day. Mandy lay asleep on the floor, a clipping on her lap. It was the clipping that had haunted her every day of the Maxwell Demon tour: Brian Slade and Curt Wild, tongues pressed together as they leaned into a suspended kiss. That relationship was what ruined Mandy Slade, edged her out of the picture and out of the spotlight for good. That relationship had made theirs so meaningless; after all, who would have any interest in a normal marriage? Certainly not Brian, but that was obvious, now wasn't it?  
  
She awoke suddenly to a loud banging on the door. "Carla," Mandy groaned, and it took her a moment to realize that her sister was still at work and she would have to get up and answer it herself. She rubbed her eyes sleepily and cursed the continuous pounding-or was that only in her head? Swinging the door open, her tired eyes almost didn't recognize the sight before her.  
  
"Can I come in?"  
  
Mandy held the door and ushered him in. He was clad in the same ensemble he'd worn the night before, obviously having strayed from his hotel. He collapsed in a chair as Mandy busied herself in the kitchen making coffee. "I didn't expect you here so soon, Curt."  
  
"Yeah, well-" He stopped mid sentence, for reasons which no one could tell. This was the same Curt, all right, always a little out of his head. "-I had no where else to go."  
  
Hours of staring at that picture had changed Mandy's perception of her old friend. "What about Jack?" she asked, with an almost sarcastic tone in her voice. But Curt remained silent; something had happened last night that had changed everything. "Curt?" she coaxed, handing him the steaming cup.  
  
"You saw him, right? That kid?" As soon as he said it, Mandy remembered the Maxwell Demon wannabe from the night before. Curt stared into the black depths of the mug, a thin smile forming across his lips. "It was the bastard's first time. He fucking worshiped me."  
  
Mandy reached over and held Curt's hand in hers. Maxwell had adored him once again. "It's just a one night stand, Curt."  
  
The rock star's crystalline eyes looked straight into hers. "Then why'd I just walk out on Jack?"  
  
The awkward silence that followed spoke a thousand words. A strange anger filled the former Mrs. Slade as she pulled her hand away and tried to find her voice to answer the strange and sudden confession. "Do you even know his name?" she asked finally, her speech tight and granular.  
  
"I don't think it ever came up." Laughter escaped his lips. "He looked better without that crap in his hair."  
  
"One would hope."  
  
"Listen, Mandy," he broke in, with an abruptly serious tone, "I don't know what the hell's wrong with me, you know maybe I'm crazy or something, but-" He paused, forming the words in his head. "-but I felt like I was changing him in some way."  
  
"You did the same to Brian."  
  
"Yeah. But Brian didn't do much damage to me."  
  
"You say that," Mandy said, smiling as her voice became sly and quiet, "but you don't believe it."  
  
Curt breathed deeply and rubbed his eye with his palm. For a moment they just sat there, staring at nothing in particular and letting the stillness do the talking. How did they get here? They had never spoken before the night of the argument that ended it all, and now all they had was each other. "I can't stay here," Curt said finally, matching his tone with the vacant expression on his face.  
  
"Yeah," Mandy sighed, mirroring her old friend's emotions. "Neither can I." 


	4. chapter IV

Nightblindness By Callie  
  
chapter IV  
  
[New York City, 1984]  
  
Curt stared untrustingly at the armed guards lining the streets. Did he vote for that asshole Reynolds to be in office? Did he even vote? The past nine years had gone by so fast, they all seemed like a blur now. How he'd possibly managed to spend this long with the sexual tension building itself ceaselessly inside of him, he'd never understand. But that man on the subway steps looked strangely familiar, any way around it. Three days ago now it had been since he saw the guy, and he couldn't get that shadowed image out of his head. Curt took a long drag on his burnt out cigarette and threw it to the ground, shoving his hands in his pockets as a few of Tommy Stone's mindless minions passed him in a flushed excitement. Tommy Stone, what a joke. He thumbed the wrinkled ticket in his pocket, reminding himself that he had a concert to go to the following night.  
  
Distracted, he collided with the two men he wanted least to see. They grabbed him by the front of his shirt, a strange way of trying to be inconspicuous. "Mr. Wild," the man clutching him breathed. "We missed you at the office. You weren't supposed to leave early."  
  
"I told you I couldn't stay another fucking minute behind that desk. Now take your hands off me."  
  
The man opened his grip and held his hands up for Curt to see. "Tomorrow," He called as Curt marched past, bending into a mocking bow. "Don't be late, sir."  
  
Curt quickened his pace towards the bar. They knew that he knew, and weren't about to let him ruin everything. But they didn't understand; Curt didn't care enough to expose the plastic superstar. A decade had substantially weakened his vengeance, and now all that was left was a need for the satisfaction, the satisfaction he'd get tomorrow night.  
  
The gaudy letters on the board at the entrance introduced Mandy Slade, now appearing nightly singing for weary patrons, fellow victims of the monotone world around them. This was Ricky's brilliant plan to save his beloved, by finding a place for her in his dingy pub. Curt approached the smoke-filled booth where the strained performer sat, head in hands, holding a cigarette dangerously close to her forehead. She was always so graceful with them. Ricky followed, beer in one hand, dishrag in the other, and greeted the washed-up rocker in the usual way. "Thanks," Curt muttered, popping the top with his teeth and taking a seat across the table from his old friend.  
  
"How were Shannon's henchmen today?" She asked, hardly looking up. Curt smiled and took another swig. "You missed the reporter," Mandy continued nonchalantly.  
  
"What?" Curt felt suddenly uneasy.  
  
"From the Herald," she continued, with feigned respect. "English kid. Doing a story about Brian." She said the name she so loathed with the sweet English dialect that she'd hid behind for so long.  
  
"Well?" Curt asked, rather interested in this new development. "What'd you tell him?"  
  
"Nothing." Mandy crushed her cigarette in the overflowing ashtray. "Or everything."  
  
"Are you going to the concert?"  
  
Mandy sighed. "Honestly, darling," she cooed in an elegant English drawl, "I couldn't bare a minute of it."  
  
"Fine," Curt snorted, finishing his beer and rising from the table. "I'll see you when you get off."  
  
"Kay," Mandy smiled as her comrade kissed her forehead and disappeared out the door. Words she'd spoken earlier rang through her head once again: It's funny how beautiful people look when they're walking out the door.  
  
The night turned into morning, and Curt and Mandy rose and parted ways again, Mandy to the pub, Curt to that cramped office where he'd spend the day once again avoiding any press or paparazzi trying to involve him in an exposé. Had it been ten years since the whole 'assassination' thing? Time certainly flies when one has nothing to wait for.  
  
Across town, a tired blond sat at a barstool, trying desperately to forgive herself for yesterday's mistake. She had given the lad Curt's number, knowing honestly that he could offer much more insight into this matter than she ever could. She hadn't stopped to think that, even if he were able to answer that call, the last thing he wanted to do was remember the man who'd hurt him the most. But nothing can ever be done to change the past, and there remained a thin hope for repairing the future.  
  
Somewhere in between, Arthur Stuart, a tall silhouette of former innocence, pushed a coin into the slot and dialed the numbers with unsure fingers. He held the phone tightly to his ear as the other end picked up. "Hello?" he said, straining to hear the faint voice on the opposite side, but nothing. "Er-I was given this number. I was told I could reach Curt Wild, er, here."  
  
"Listen-" the voice began to mumble incoherently, as if arguing with someone else in the room.  
  
"Yeah?" Arthur coaxed. "Hello?"  
  
"Listen," the voice began again, rather gruffly, "I don't know who the hell gave you this number, but Curt Wild is not interested in giving you or anyone else an interview on this subject, got it?"  
  
"I'm sorry, I-"  
  
Curt slammed the phone down and stared piercingly at the suit-clad men on the sofa in front of him. He had done just as they'd instructed, saved they're poor little plastic idol from the truth once again. Why was he helping them, why had he given in? What could they threaten him with that he didn't already want? Death was a great adventure, after all. But it was Mandy's life that he valued. He'd been so protective of her for so long, seeing in her a part of him he could never retrieve. He'd managed to keep her out of this whole thing so far, and he couldn't give in now.  
  
The concert was horrible. Bad music, bad sets, bad costumes; and yet legions of screaming fans soaked it all in. Curt wondered how anyone could be so fooled, how the world could possibly have come to this. He and Brian were going to change things, but they're revolution was premature. And this wasn't what they'd had in mind. He wondered if there was anyone in this crowd remembering the Death of Glitter concert, a show with substance and meaning, the show where Curt had ripped his heart out and left it bleeding for Brian to pick up, but had found it there in front of him when the lights went down. And suddenly his mind turned to the one-night-stand that changed his life forever. Might he have been in London right now, instead of in this God-awful crowd, had he followed his instincts and turned the kid away? No, that wasn't the point. Would he be any happier now, that was the question.  
  
An encore would have been more than he could stand, so Curt beat the crowds to the bar. Mandy was nowhere to be found, so Curt took a seat in the back. The florescent lights hung a dull blue in the smoky air, casting an eerie tint upon the linoleum tables. Curt watched in disgust as patrons began flowing in. He sucked on the mouth of his beer bottle to keep from spitting at their Tommy Stone uniforms: tee shirts, buttons, masks. How fitting, really, Tommy Stone masks. That's all he really was.  
  
Curt drained the bottle but was too lazy to get another, so he sat in silence, staring blankly at the ticket in his hands until the sight became repulsive and he threw it down in front of him. He had resorted to staring at his painted thumbs when a voice interrupted his lack of thought. "You're Curt Wild."  
  
"Yeah," he said irritably, turning towards a tall young Englishman, dark and hardened from battles with his own demons, standing a few feet away. "Who the hell are you?" 


	5. chapter V

Nightblindness By Callie  
  
chapter V  
  
"So, Arthur, you have the story?"  
  
Arthur looked up from his draft, the thick rimmed glasses sliding a little ways down the bridge of his nose. It was now or never. He shuffled the pages neatly and rose to deposit them in his boss' waiting hand.  
  
"Brian Slade: the truth behind the mask," Lou read, then paused questioningly. "Arthur, I thought I told you that story'd been dropped. Weren't you supposed to cover the Stone show?"  
  
"Well," Arthur replied, a mischievous smile coming to his face, "I believe you'll find a little of both in there."  
  
Lou's head remained bent for some time, concentrating hard on the document of harsh accusation in his hands. "This is a good story, Arthur," he said finally, looking up at him, "a very good story. But-" He moseyed over to the desk and dropped the transcript in front of it's author. "-I can't print it."  
  
"What?" Arthur couldn't understand. He was sure that this would be the story of the century. "But Lou, this could put the Herald back where it belongs! Up with the Times and all that-"  
  
"I didn't want to have to show you this." Lou pulled a folded telex from his breast pocket and placed it with the notes under Arthur's nose. The young man lifted the fax gently, almost fearful of what it might say, adjusted his glasses and examined the print: a warning. If they were to print a story about Brian Slade, no matter what the contents or occasion, a lawsuit would ensue. "No amount of glory is worth what we'd pay for this."  
  
Arthur was speechless. "They know, then," he settled, "and they know we know."  
  
"Now look, Arthur, it's not the end of the world. How's the Reynolds story coming along?"  
  
The Englishmen listlessly removed his glasses. "Great," he sighed, folding them into his pocket.  
  
"Good! Have it in to me by Tuesday."  
  
*********  
  
Ricky continued shining shot glasses, but kept an eagle's eye on the young man he recognized from the past few days, who was making his way carelessly towards that same table, where the same woman sat smoking a cigarette in the same manner as she had three days ago. "So, you're wondering why I called you again," Arthur presupposed, a grin on his face.  
  
"Sort of." Mandy tapped ashes into the tray, than assumed her position of distrusting stares.  
  
"I just wanted to thank you for helping me get a hold of Curt Wild."  
  
"No problem." She relaxed a bit and continued. "When's it going to print?"  
  
"It won't." Arthur took a seat across from her, slightly more relented than he had been the last time he was in this situation. "The newspaper'll get in more trouble if we print it than I'd get in if I didn't have one at all." He paused and sipped the drink Ricky had placed in front of him. "But I wanted to talk to you some more, actually."  
  
"Shoot."  
  
"Well." Arthur swallowed hard, about to confess something he'd been holding inside himself for a decade now; the emerald pin on his jacket glinted softly in the light. "You know that concert you were talking about? The one you saw Brian at but-"  
  
"Yes," Mandy interrupted, trying to avoid the gruesome details of the night. She took a long drag of her cigarette to ease the tension building in the air.  
  
"I remember that show. And I remember seeing you there."  
  
Mandy stopped short, nearly choking on her cigarette. Why did this kid look suddenly so familiar?  
  
"You were standing backstage," he continued, "you came in right in the middle of Curt Wild's performance. And when he got off stage you were right there to greet him. I think you saw me there-"  
  
No response.  
  
"Anyway, well, Curt and I, we-"  
  
It was by some strange miracle that Curt Wild walked in at that precise moment.  
  
*********  
  
Curt stopped dead when he saw that booth. "Mandy," he said in the deep, testy voice that by now she was so use to, "What the hell's going on."  
  
Mandy gestured towards the Englishmen with her smoking hand. "This is Arthur Stuart, the reporter from the Herald. I don't believe you've been formally introduced." The rocker stared at them both, then without a word turned to go. "Will you excuse me," Mandy said frustratedly as she rose from the table. She reached Curt first and pulled him off to the side to speak to him alone. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Curt?" she hissed. "You saw him last night, why didn't you tell me who he was?"  
  
"It wouldn't have solved a damn thing."  
  
"The love of our lives is out there right now parading as that bastard Tommy Stone! This kid can expose the whole thing! You threw away your life for him, Curt, you at least owe him a conversation."  
  
"I told you I talked to him last-"  
  
"A conversation that doesn't have to do with Brian."  
  
Curt's stare bore into her like icy daggers, and he pushed his way passed her and stood over the kid's shoulder. "So," he began; Arthur kept still and stared ahead, "did you find the pin?" Arthur sighed and began to unfasten the verdant broach. "No, no," Curt continued, "I want you to have it. Kind of as a thank you."  
  
Arthur's heart skipped a beat. "Thank me for what?"  
  
"You didn't think I'd forget, did you?"  
  
The young man turned slowly in his seat. For a moment the two just stared at each other, unsure of who should make the next move. Arthur's heart pounded in his chest as his hopes were proven gloriously true; Curt was left speechless, completely dumbfounded as to how he was going to explain what had happened that night to either of them. Backed up against a wall, Mandy kept a watchful eye on the scene before her, omniscient of the pain that reliving that night would cause for the both of them. She knew, and had known from the moment she'd laid eyes on Arthur nearly ten years ago, that the source of the attraction lied in neither of them, but in a false idol who had long since been laid to rest. She fixed her glance in tense anticipation. 


	6. chapter VI

Nightblindness By Callie  
  
chapter VI  
  
Since they'd last seen her, Shannon had transformed herself now into a vision of 1980s excess. She was one with the changing times, as artificial as the makeup monsters she created. Her management skills had transformed countless nobodies into full-fledged celebrities, and none with such success as Tommy Stone, platinum pompadour and all. No one ever saw her worried, no one ever saw her nice. And today was no exception.  
  
Curt sat in the lush leather chair, feet rested listlessly on the desk before him, a cigarette in one hand and Arthur's article in the other. The mother of the hairspray poster child stood before him, hands clenched in fists so tight that her long acrylic nails dug into her skin and the blood leaked underneath them. "Answer me, Curt," she hissed.  
  
"Sorry, what was the question?"  
  
"Who was that man last night and why the fuck was he asking about Brian?"  
  
"I don't know what the hell you're trying to say, I wasn't there." Curt sucked the end of his cigarette slowly, calmly.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Look, mom, if you're shitting bricks about this, I left the concert early. It was so fucking horrible I was damn near cutting my own ears off." He returned to reading with indifference.  
  
"And is this going to continue?"  
  
"What, exactly?" Curt sucked the cigarette nonchalantly.  
  
"This little coup, you obnoxious fuck, what do you think?"  
  
Curt smiled and shook his head.  
  
Shannon threw her arms in the air, obviously getting frustrated. "What do you want from me?"  
  
Curt held the stub of cigarette to his lips, his eyes mockingly pensive. "Brian Slade," he said finally, letting the faintest touch of a smile pull across his mouth.  
  
"Brian Slade is dead" Shannon replied with a contemptuous smirk, at once relieved and overwhelmed.  
  
"So is Tommy Stone's career once this article's published."  
  
The puppeteer tried to speak, but dropped her head, defeated; Curt felt a rush of excitement pulse through his veins at the sheer thought of seeing this fallen idol become his fallen lover once again. Don't lose control of yourself, Curt; it's been a long time. "7:00," he said softly. "No makeup, and have him come alone."  
  
"Do you honestly think I'd let him-"  
  
"For fuck's sake, Shannon, we're not gonna torture him, we just want to see Brian again without some asswipe getting in the way."  
  
"Some 'asswipe?'"  
  
"Okay, fine, we don't want to have to see you any longer than we have to, make sense now?"  
  
A spark ignited in Shannon's livid eye but died fast, as she could find no biting counterattack. She turned in a huff and stalked out of the room, padded shoulders held high.  
  
"7:00 then," Curt called after her, fighting his urge to blatantly express the hilarity of the situation, a battle which he quickly came to lose; he succumbed to fits of laughter as he crushed his cigarette on the desktop. 


End file.
